The Reluctant Wizard
by Jahx
Summary: AU/Divergence. Harry realizes at an early age that life isn't fair, and learns to overcome the challenges in his life through hard work and dedication to his dreams. Those dreams are horribly derailed by the arrival of an invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the discovery that there a is world beyond the one he knows, which is apparently just as unfair...
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note

Several of the kind members reddit/hpfanfiction took the time to read over this, my first attempt at writing fanfiction, and pointed out a number of issues. First and foremost was the fact that the length of the paragraphs I used, while quite in line with traditional print, appeared to anyone reading on a mobile device as a wall of text. Second was that I was suffering from the common dilemma of writing children as if they were adults. I'm not able to write children as children, so I acceded to the logic and aged them up to be in Junior rather than Infant. Hopefully this will help with the suspension of disbelief required.

Special thanks to Cavelioness for her sound arguments and advice.

/Author's note

Harry Potter was seven years old when he realized that life was inherently unfair.

He wasn't able to verbalize it as such, or even frame it in his mind, however, he was quite sure that other children weren't treated as poorly as he was and further that he hadn't done anything, in particular, to deserve his lot in life. He made this determination four days into his first term at the Little Whinging Junior School when after careful observation and comparison he knew without a doubt that every single one of his classmates was better dressed, better fed, and better supplied than he was.

Whereas his classmates dressed in trousers, t-shirts and trainers that were, if not brand new, at least without holes and fit them well, (although a more astute or older observer might have noticed that a few of the children wore clothes with a bit of growing room, or perhaps an outdated logo on a shirt passed on from an older sibling who had outgrown it, but not worn it out of serviceability), Harry Potter was clad in clothing so terribly oversized as to appear clownish, in addition to being much the worse for wear. Harry's t-shirt was once a brilliant scarlet that had faded to a rather dull pink and sized for someone at least six inches taller, and two stone heavier. His trousers were less faded, but more damaged, with both rear pockets torn off, leaving two splotches of darker denim highlighting a poorly stitched back seam, all of which was all too visible as the trousers also possessed several additional inches of unnecessary length and more than a foot of extra waist. As one continued downwards, a rather sad pair of trainers which must have once been white were to be seen, held together by silver duct tape. It was clear to anyone, even seven-year-old children, that Harry Potter did not fit in with the rest of his class.

Harry recognized this fact immediately when he arrived on his first day but was in no position to remedy it. As the first few days passed and his classmates overcame any initial shyness they may or may not have had, they began to make friends with each other, based on whatever common interests they might have. Harry was excluded from this process entirely based on his appearance. Harry was, perhaps justifiably, upset by the casual cruelty of exclusion his classmates relegated him to, as he had hoped to make friends.

His home life was less than stellar, living as he did with his Aunt Petunia, his Uncle Vernon, and his Cousin Dudley with whom he shared his new schooling experience.

His Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister, although the few things Aunt Petunia had shared with Harry about his mother made it clear that were not at the time of his mothers passing, close. She doted on his Cousin Dudley, quite to the exclusion and more often than not, to the detriment of Harry, whom she made clear was a best an unwelcome guest in her home. Aunt Petunia had told Harry repeatedly that he had been left unceremoniously on their doorstep one November morning with only a letter advising her and Uncle Vernon that her sister and brother in law had been killed, and guardianship of then just over one-year-old Harry had fallen to them. The fact that the family received no compensation, nor insurance, nor assistance in funds to raise Harry was an often lamented fact, and frequently a point raised by Petunia whenever Harry failed to complete a chore or task she set for him adequately.

Uncle Vernon was a member of the management of Grunnings, a manufacturer of drilling equipment, and the provider of more than half of Little Whinging's employment. A corpulent and boisterous man, he took his position as a leader at Grunnings seriously and carried that mindset over to the local community where he viewed himself (and to be fair, was quite often seen as) a pillar, always ready to volunteer his time and even small funds to community events. Vernon, sharing no blood relation with Harry seemed to have even less use for him than Petunia, and as the man of house was the one responsible for delivering any paddlings or even strappings needed, when Petunia indicated that Harry had misbehaved. This role did little to endear him to Harry, who, by and large, rather viewed his Uncle as an incomprehensible force of nature; Huge, loud, and violent.

Harry's family was rounded out by his Cousin Dudley who took after his father both physically (being rotund and quite tall for his age), and in personality, although Dudley lacked his father's bonhomie and instead merely presented himself as loud and demanding. Imitating his father's attitude and actions towards Harry, Dudley found at an early age that he earned his father's approval by pushing Harry around, both verbally and physically. That his mother gave Dudley no indication that she disapproved of this behavior set a clear and early precedent in the young boy's mind this was perfectly normal and proper behavior.

Harry himself was slender, a trait apparently his Aunt and Mother both shared, although he had no photographs of his parents to provide evidence, and short. Quite the opposite of Dudley. His eyes were green, and his hair black, and unruly, in contrast to Vernon and Dudley who both shared blue eyes and well behaved blonde hair, and Petunia whose light auburn locks were impeccably curled, and served to highlight her blue eyes, which were only a shade darker than her Husband and Son's. The family portraits that hung on the walls of the Dursley household showed a strong family resemblance and served to showcase proud parents and a beloved son. Of Harry, there was no sign or mention. In point of fact, were one to tour the Dursley household (which Petunia's bridge club, garden club, community theatre group, and local women's auxiliary often did), one would have no evidence to show that a fourth person was living in the house. Afterall, Petunia and Vernon claimed the master bedroom, Dudley had the second largest room, and a very neatly appointed guest room awaited the occasional arrival of Vernon's older sister Margaret, a widow who raised champion English Bulldog's in her spinsterhood. No, one would have to unlock the small, angular door that secured the cupboard under the stairs to find the thin crib mattress and army surplus blanket upon which Harry spent his nights.

His days up till the point of the beginning of this school year were spent "Earning his keep" as his Aunt and Uncle liked to refer to the various chores and tasks Harry was assigned. He weeded the garden, painted the fence and stoop, and washed his Uncles personal car, a 1980 Triumph Spitfire (his company car, a rather lovely Range Rover was just too tall for Harry to properly clean without a step ladder, and Vernon didn't trust him to that degree). Inside the Dursley household, Harry was responsible for washing, drying, folding and putting away the laundry, as well as sweeping and mopping the floors. He had also recently been assigned the task of preparing breakfast each day, which consisted of eggs, bacon, toast and reconstituted frozen orange juice.

Harry had rather hoped that going to school would allow him to escape Dudley's bullying behavior, and the arduous and never-ending list of tasks and chores his family had for him. However, this wasn't to be the case. Harry found himself alone at break on his fourth day, perched somewhat morosely on one end of the seesaw, which the other children had for some unexplained reason abandoned. Harry watched as Dudley, the largest of his classmates, attracted a group of several others, as he told them some story, likely having to do with Harry and something humiliating and embarrassing judging by the stares and laughter coming from the group. He pulled his thin shoulders in tighter under his ridiculously oversized jumper, and thought to himself "It won't ever be fair, so it shouldn't matter." He desperately wished he could convince himself of that.

It was two months into the school year when Harry learned yet another harsh truth. The entire class had spent their first two months learning to read and write a few simple sentences. This hadn't come terribly easily to Harry as he hadn't ever been read to, that he could remember. He knew that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon took turns reading bedtime stories to Dudley at night (and had suffered a deep, aching jealously that they never read to him). Harry had struggled, in no small part initially due to his eyesight, which his teacher, Mrs. Smith had determined was poor and that Harry was nearsighted. This resulted in a letter home to Aunt Petunia, and a trip to the local optometrist where Harry was tested, pronounced nearsighted, and provided with a pair of round, black plastic framed eyeglasses, the cost of which Aunt Petunia lamented loudly and often for several weeks.

Armed with his vastly improved eyesight, Harry tackled the assignment with enthusiasm. When Mrs. Smith handed back their first official assignments, Harry was quite pleased that he had gotten a gold star! He had spent all of his free time in class and at break practicing (which in his mind wasn't any great loss, as none of the other children were interested in playing with the "Freak" as Dudley liked to call him), and while he wasn't the best in the class, an honor that went to Amanda Langham, he was still one of the four out of fifteen that received a gold star.

Upon delivering his results proudly to Aunt Petunia, Harry discovered that not even outside confirmation of a job well done drew any approval from her. When Vernon came home, he further learned that performing better than Dudley was an invitation to punishment. Harry was sent to his cupboard without dinner for "Cheating" as Vernon crossly informed him that there was no way he could have possibly done better than Dudley and that if he didn't "Shape up" he was sure to go the same way as his worthless parents and die while drunk driving. As Harry lay in his closet, eyes burning with unshed tears, he clenched his tiny fists and swore to himself that he would keep doing well, no matter what Uncle Vernon said.

And so Harry did as well as he could. He wasn't able to endear himself to Mrs. Smith, who was only a few years from retirement and had long ago lost whatever passion she had initially possessed for teaching, and now merely employed the mechanics of learning. Harry was able to devise an ingenious method of disguising his assignment results, by just removing his gold stars from the assignments before bringing them home. As long as Dudley didn't see the gold star before Harry had a chance to remove it, he was home free, as Amanda Langham proved to be a remarkably bright little girl whose parents had already taught to read and write a year earlier, and was the only pupil regularly identified as having the best results.

Harry's autumn term continued as it began, save for the addition of several classmates to Dudley's campaign to bully and demoralize Harry. Dudley and his new friends came up with a game they called "Harry Hunting" where they would find Harry, chase Harry until the caught Harry, then push Harry to the ground and put the boot in. Harry was not a fan of this new game, and took to staying close to the teachers at break, and hiding when that wasn't practical. Coming home dirty, and occasionally bloodied with scrapes, served to further cement his Aunt and Uncle's already low opinion of him.

Matters came to a head when Aunt Petunia received both Harry and Dudley's end of term marks in the mail the Monday after the winter holiday break began. Harry had been unaware that there would be a report sent at the end of term, this being his first term, and no one taking any particular effort to explain to him precisely how schools functioned. Harry noticed that Aunt Petunia was upset about something, and with long familiarity knew that somehow he was the cause. When Uncle Vernon came home, Harry was sitting in the kitchen on his stool (being unable to reach the sink or the stove, he had his own three-legged wooden stool), peeling potatoes for the evening meal. Aunt Petunia greeted Uncle Vernon at the door and held him there for a few minutes speaking to him in low tones that Harry wasn't able to hear. Harry was caught quite unaware when Uncle Vernon walked into the kitchen, anger written large on his face, and backhanded him, knocking him off his stool, and smacking the back of his head against the hard steel of the oven behind him.

"Boy," Uncle Vernon growled, "I told you that cheating wouldn't be tolerated in my house." Harry shook his head trying to clear it while choking back a sob as his face reddened and tears sprang from his eyes. Vernon thrust a thick, rectangular piece of amber coloured construction paper in front of Harry's face. "This is your end of term report boy" Vernon hissed "And it says you've been cheating." Uncle Vernon reached down and grabbed Harry by the arm, yanking him to his feet, and dragging him out of the kitchen towards Harry's cupboard. "Just like your worthless parents, lazy layabouts, living off the dole, cheating honest, hardworking people" Vernon rumbled, "And us, a good, normal, upstanding family burdened with a cheating freak." With that epitaph, Harry was tossed into his cupboard, his head hitting the back wall so hard that he lost consciousness immediately, without even realizing that his Uncle, in his anger, had twisted his arm so hard that it had fractured.

That was the first Christmas with the Dursley's that Harry ever received a gift - the nurse who attended the Doctor that set Harry's broken arm gave him a small stuffed bear with a white bandage on its arm. Harry made himself small while Uncle Vernon explained to the Doctor that Harry had been bringing home false grades all term, and that when Vernon had discovered it, Vernon had grabbed Harry just a little too hard. Faced with Aunt Petunia and Dudley, the entire family well dressed and clearly healthy, with another child that was apparently fine, and no signs of abuse, the Doctor was all too willing to chalk this up to a delinquent youth who pushed his loving family too far, especially when Harry was unable to refute the fact that he hadn't brought home his real assignment results. Harry wanted to say that he was trying to hide his ~good~ grades, but a looming Uncle Vernon kept him from it. Harry learned yet another valuable lesson - the things he didn't know could come back around to hurt him.

What Harry was unaware of was that Uncle Vernon had also learned a lesson. Vernon was too strong, and his temper too volatile. Broken limbs weren't something that would often be overlooked, and he hadn't truly intended to damage him. Vernon needed a better way to punish the boy. As he drove his family, and his freak of a nephew-in-law (Vernon did not consider Harry really be family) back home from the hospital, an idea sprang to mind.

Harry spent the Holiday break in his cupboard. He was allowed out twice a day for the loo, and to have a drink of water and a few slices of dry bread. It was, Uncle Vernon said, what prisoners received, and if Harry was going be a lying cheat, he ought to get a taste of where that path would lead him. His imprisonment ended when spring term began.

Harry returned to Little Whinging Junior School even more subdued than he had been previously, and with a heavy plaster cast, he would carry for the next month. His school work suffered, and he was issued no more gold stars. It wasn't until the first week of March, when Mrs. Smith took ill, that a substitute teacher gave Harry something he hadn't ever had before - Hope.

If Mrs. Smith was considered old in her mid-fifties, then Mr. Carmichael was well into the category of ancient at the age of ninety-two. He was tall, nearly six feet despite being stooped with age, and his head was bald and shiny, the skin thin, and sprinkled with liver spots. His eyebrows were bushy, and silver, the same colour as the stubble that graced his cheeks. The impression of age was further aided by his cane, which served him when the damp caused his leg to ache, which was often. Despite all of this, he bore himself with pride and surety, his suit dated but pressed and neat. His blue eyes were sharp, with no hint of loss of his faculties, and if his voice was rough, his diction was precise. Moreover, Mr. Carmichael was active, engaged and interested in his temporary pupils.

Harry was still suffering from the further harsh realities the world had seen fit to reveal to him over the holidays, and took only slight notice of Mrs. Smith's temporary replacement, until after the morning break, when Amanda Langham, who suffered from no measure of shyness and possessed a rather inquisitive nature asked Mr. Carmichael about the crimson ribbon he wore from his breast pocket, and the black cross that hung beneath it. Mr. Carmichael looked surprised, then a wide smile broke across his grizzled old face, and he began to speak. Some of the children recognized a trained orator as their parents shared his skill. Others were caught up in the cadence and tones of a true storyteller. All of them were paying rapt attention.

"This", Mr. Carmichael said, tapping the black cross "is my Victoria Cross". He drew a deep breath and began to speak "It was the 19th of December, just a few short days before Christmas, and I was in the trenches at Nueve Chapelle, on the Western Front. It was cold, and we daren't have had a fire, as the damn Jerry's took any glow as an opportunity toss a few bombs at us." He gestured tossing something with an overhead throw, as he continued "As a Lieutenant in Her Majesty's Corp of Royal Engineers, I knew all too well how those bombs worked, which is to say a sight better than ours did." He snorted ruefully.

"As it happened, we'd kicked Jerry out of a trench, and the lad's holding it ran into a spot of bother - turns out our bombs wouldn't ignite, and Jerry was hell-bent on getting back in that trench." He sighed and rubbed his leg as his eyes grew distant. "So, the Major in command of the West Yorkshire, he comes up to me, claps me on the shoulder and says 'Phil my lad, I've a trench up there with bombs in it, and one a bit further on with Jerrys lazing about. Be a good fellow, and introduce them to each other will you?".

He chuckled, a low, light-hearted laugh. "The Major was a bit of a character. So up I went, and found naught but six cases of grenades, none of which had bloody fuses, and nearly a dozen wounded men" He looked down at his pupils, who were staring up at him wide-eyed. He continued on "It was about then that Jerry got serious about tossing his own bombs into that trench, and the situation became a bit exciting. I took out my matches, and proceeded, over the next hour to light each grenade with a match and loft it over to Jerry."

He shook his right hand slightly and rubbed the pad of his thumb and forefinger together. "Burned my finger right and proper by the time the West Yorkshire got up to the Trench en masse, but I kept Jerry out of it." He reached up and tapped the black cross again "I was awarded this for," he made quoutation marks with both hands "'Conspicuous Valour in the face of the Enemy'. All told I threw one hundred and forty four bombs that night, and drug or carried eleven wounded men from that trench."

Mr. Carmichael cleared his throat drawing the children out of their entranced state and said "The Victoria Cross is the highest honour that can be awarded for gallantry. I've never been completely sure I deserve it, but when Her Majesty chooses to give you an award, you accept it with as much grace as you are able.". Amanda Langham raised her hand, and at his nod asked: "What is the Western Front?".

And so began a three-week course on The Great War, taught by one who had lived it. And for young Harry Potter, he had finally found someone to look up to.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Carmichael quickly became a household name for the dozen and change pupils he was in charge of. Upon returning home from that first day, Dudley had run up to his father, who was ensconced in his recliner, enjoying a tumbler of whiskey and launched into an excited and mangled retelling of Mr. Carmichael's story. Vernon wasn't accustomed to Dudley being so exuberant about school, and focused on his son, listening to the disjointed tale.

"Sounds like they've got you a proper teacher there," Vernon said, his heart swelling with pride at Dudley's enthusiasm "What unit did he say he served with?". Dudley scrunched his brow, clearly concentrating "The..Royal Engines?" He said hesitantly. "Her Majesty's Corp of Royal Engineers," Harry said quietly from slightly behind and to the side of Dudley.

Vernon frowned, having not noticed the boy, which was simple enough with Dudley being so much... more than Harry. "And tell me, boy, what did you think of Mr. Carmichael?" Vernon asked Harry. Harry took a deep breath and said as firmly as he could manage, "I think he is a hero, Sir." Vernon's frown smoothed out, and he nodded at the boy, "That's right... Harry," he said and noticed the boys eyes widen at being addressed by name, "The Queen," Vernon said, his voice capitalizing the word "only gives out the Victoria Cross to the bravest men in the world." Vernon cleared his throat and looked Harry straight in the eye, a gaze which Harry managed with a mental struggle to meet, and said: "You'd do well to learn from him." With that Vernon turned his attention back to Dudley who was deeply interested in the bombs Mr. Carmichael had spoken of.

At little Whinging Junior the next morning the Headmistress, Mrs. Upton was drinking her morning tea, her eyes closed as she mentally reviewed a message left on the answerphone. Mrs. Langham had called, rather upset that Mr. Carmichael had told a story in her daughters class that had "Glorified war, and enthused violence."

Mrs. Upton wasn't personally familiar with Mr. Carmichael, but was close friends with his daughter, Carol and had been for decades. When Carol had told Mrs. Upton that her mother had passed, and her father had moved to Little Whinging to be closer to her, and his grandchildren, Mrs. Upton had asked what he planned to do with his days. Further conversation revealed that beyond raising a wonderful daughter, Mr. Carmicheal had been a war hero, an Olympian and even had a background as an educator, as the Commandant of the Royal Military Academy, Woolwich. It was this last bit that caught Mrs. Upton's attention, and she had met with Mr. Carmichael before term, at his daughters birthday celebration. Phil, as he preferred to be called, was a delightful storyteller, and Mrs. Upton was quickly able to convince him that he might enjoy a bit of work at her school should they need a substitute for the younger years, or as a guest on Remembrance Day.

As the first warning bell rang, Mrs. Upton set down her tea, and proceeded to Mr. Carmichael's class, arriving as the attendance bell rang. Glancing into the classroom, she was surprised to see that without exception every child was in their seat, eagerly looking towards Mr. Carmichael. Mrs, Upton stepped back, out of sight of the children, but still visible to Mr. Carmichael, who gave her an inquisitive look, which she returned with a smile, and a nod to carry on.

Mr. Carmichael smiled at his pupils and said "Good Morning Everyone!", to which he received an exuberant "Good Morning Mr. Carmichael!". "Raise your hand if any of you know the words to 'God Save the Queen'" Mr. Carmichael said, his eyes searching the rows, finding only Amanda Langham's hand up. 'Sharp as a tack, that one' he thought to himself before he said "Amanda, why don't you stand up and help me with the words," his weather face smiling as he said, "us old folks sometimes have trouble remembering things." He wrote the words on the blackboard, having to correct her only once. Mr. Carmichael cleared his throat, and asked: "Would any of you like to sing along with me?" Seeing no raised hands, he began to sing:

"God save our gracious Queen,  
Long live our noble Queen,  
God save the Queen:  
Send her victorious,  
Happy and glorious,  
Long to reign over us:  
God save the Queen.

O Lord our God arise,  
Scatter her enemies,  
And make them fall:  
Confound their politics,  
Frustrate their knavish tricks,  
On Thee our hopes we fix:  
God save us all.

Thy choicest gifts in store,  
On her be pleased to pour;  
Long may she reign:  
May she defend our laws,  
And ever give us cause  
To sing with heart and voice  
God save the Queen."

Mrs. Upton, still watching from the hall smiled to herself. 'I remember when we used to sing God Save the Queen when I was a child' she thought, 'I wonder when we stopped.' Seeing the class engaged and attentive, she sighted, lamenting that Mrs. Smith had tenure, and didn't plan to retire any time soon. The difference between an enthusiastic, engaged teacher and one merely going through the motions truly showed in the children's response.

His song coming to an end, Mr. Carmichael leaned back on his desk, and asked his pupils "Now, we are going to copy down the song from the board, but before we begin does anyone have any questions?"

Amanda raised her hand immediately, and Mr. Carmichael waited a few moments to see if any of the other children had anything to ask, before smiling at her and nodding "Yes, Ms. Langham?" Amanda put her hand down, and in an uncharacteristic show of shyness, looked down as she said: "I told my mother about your story yesterday, and she said that war was wrong, and you shouldn't make it sound fun."

Mr. Carmichael smiled gently and said, "Amanda, look at me." "You should always look someone in the eye when you are speaking to them, even if it is about something that makes you uncomfortable, or unhappy," he continued, "and I'm sorry if I gave you," he looked around the classroom "or anyone else the idea that the War was fun."

He sighed, rubbing his leg absentmindedly. "A wise man, a General who had fought in a war for years once said 'It is well that war is so terrible, or we should grow too fond of it'." "To a man, the war was spent cold, often wet, hungry, and nearly always afraid." He went on his eyes distant. "No, war is horrible, awful thing, and Her Majesty wouldn't have mustered us to it if the cost of standing aside had not been even worse." He shook himself from his reverie and smiled broadly at the bright little girl, "Your mother is quite right, war isn't fun or good, but sometimes it's necessary."

Emboldened Amanda continued to meet his gaze and asked: "If it's so bad, why did you go to war?" Mr. Carmichael pointed over his shoulder to the picture of the Queen and said: "Because Her Majesty called, and Englishmen have always chosen to do what was right, even if it was hard." He stood from the desk, unconsciously wincing as leg ached "I'll sit down with your mother and talk with her, alright?" He said. Amanda nodded, and seeing as no other questions were presented, they began to copy the words from the blackboard.

At first break Mr. Carmichael stood by the door, leaning on his cane as he watched his students run about the playground. Of the lot, a few stood out. First, young Miss Langham, who was quite bright and vivacious, as well as being the only Asian pupil in the class, the only hint of her British ancestry being her bright blue eyes. Piers Polkiss was a slender boy, with an unfortunate overbite, and a quick and witty nature. Dudley Dursley was tall and disturbingly well fed, although a handsome lad with his wavy blonde hair and blue eyes. He hoped the boys baby fat would melt over time, and wasn't indicative of a medical condition or his parents allowing him to develop a gluttonous nature. And finally, Harry Potter who was apparently young Dudley's cousin. It appeared that Mr. Potter had inherited his cousin's clothing, and little else as he shared none of Dudleys features, being both short and slender, raven-haired and emerald-eyed. Further, while Dudley was an outgoing and boisterous boy, Harry sat alone, likely ostracized by his classmates for his ill-fitting clothing and shyness.

Hearing the door swing open beside him, he saw Mrs. Upton walk out the door, and move over to stand beside him. "Phil," she greeted him warmly, "That was a lovely rendition of God Save the Queen earlier." He grinned at her "Mark my words Joyce I'll have the lot of them singing along with me by the end of the week."

His smile faded as he glanced at the boy who sat alone by the merry-go-round. "Excepting for Mr. Potter perhaps... what can you tell me about him?". Mrs. Upton looked over at Harry and frowned "According to Mrs. Smith he was doing very well on his work until after the holidays when slacked after his arm was broken." Mr. Carmichael nodded, and said, "I'll take some time to speak to the lad, see if I can't get him to put the effort back in - would be a shame to have him slip and develop bad habits."

He let out a sigh and said "Can you call Miss Langham's mother and ask her to come down after school? I believe we might have a misunderstanding brewing, best to nip it in the bud." Mrs. Upton nodded "I don't know Mrs. Langham well, but I do know she is very actively involved with her daughter, as she has her in a Piano class, and I've also seen them riding at South Downs." The bell rang, and the two of them began to corral the children back into the school.

As the day wore to its close, Harry paid close attention to Mr. Carmichael. While Harry was more than a bit afraid of Vernon, yesterday was the first time he could remember Vernon saying his name, and speaking to him as if he were someone as worthy of his time as Dudley. Harry considered Mr. Carmicheal's advice to Amanda, to always look someone in the eye when you were talking to them. 'I should learn from him' Harry thought, recalling Vernon's words. 'Maybe Uncle Vernon won't hate me so much if I learn from Mr. Carmichael.'

Unbeknownst to Harry, Mr. Carmichael was observing him as well. He saw that Harry completed his work nearly as quickly as Miss Langham, and then lost himself in his thoughts. He turned his attention to his cousin, Dudley and saw that the boy would do a bit of the work, then fidget for a bit tapping his crayon and doodling in the margins, then dash off a bit more work, before repeating the process. 'That lad has too much energy,' Mr. Carmichael thought to himself 'Would do him good to be more active at break, and burn it off.'

The final bell rang, and he collected his pupils' work, as they gathered their colourful knapsacks and raucously ran out the door. He quickly looked over their work, made a few notes for each of them, and affixed a gold star to Amanda Langham's paper, before locking up the classroom and joining Mrs. Upton in her office to await the arrival of Amanda's mother.

Mayling Langham was a petite Japanese woman, whose heart had been captured by a young British medical officer, who had treated the citizens of a hostile nation with care and compassion, showing them respect by learning their language. Her beauty and intelligence and likewise enraptured Jack Langham, and he had brought his fiance' home with him after the war, as he had a family, whereas hers had been wiped out at Nagasaki. Although she dearly loved her husband, she loathed the war that had taken her entire family from her. When her brilliant little girl had come home from school and told her about the temporary teacher that told them war stories, she was incensed. She had spent that evening restless and had left a concerned message on the school answerphone that morning. Now she was walking into Little Whinging Primary at the invitation of the Headmistress to discuss the matter.

Mrs. Upton met her at the front desk and walked her to the Headmistress' office. Upon entering Mr. Carmichael stood from his chair, and smiled at her, offering his hand. Mrs. Langham shook his hand noting in passing that his handshake was firm but gentle, and his skin warm but paper thin. Her daughter had said he was old, but she had expected someone her own age, but this man looked to be as old as her own grandfather.

"Mrs. Langham," he said with a smile "what a pleasure to meet you, your daughter is a wonderfully bright little girl, sharp as a tack." Mrs. Langham couldn't restrain the pride she felt and responded: "Yes, she is very bright, we began teaching to count and read when she was three, and she took to it as naturally as breathing." He nodded, acknowledging Amanda's aptitude "She took me to task this morning, telling me what you had to say about war," he continued as Mrs. Langham's expression darkened "and I'll tell you what I told the class: It wasn't my intention to glorify war, or make it sound fun. War is an ugly, dirty and scary business and it's a rare man who wishes for it."

He raised his hand as Mrs. Langham moved to speak and, and continued "Now, I won't ever speak to any sort of glory of war, but I will tell stories of my time in the service, as I took the Queen's shilling for most of my life and those are the only stories I have. Now if you don't wish for your daughter to hear them, I suggest either having Mrs. Upton" he nodded to Joyce, "replace me, or remove Amanda for school for the next few weeks while Mrs. Smith recovers."

Mrs. Langham bristled at that statement and glanced at Mrs. Upton trying to gauge the level of support that Mr. Carmichael would receive. Mrs. Upton recognized the look for what it was, and intervened by saying "I would hate to see Amanda miss out on any schooling, although to be fair she is so far ahead of her classmates she could easily do so, however, I won't be replacing Mr. Carmichael." Mrs. Upton breathed deeply and went on "It is a rare privilege to have a Companion of the Order of the Bath instruct our children, and I'll not muzzle a recipient of the Victoria Cross if he wishes to tell the tale of how he was honoured with our nations highest award for gallantry."

Mrs. Langham was taken aback back by the directness and unconditional tone of the statement of support Mrs. Upton delivered. She had become a citizen through her marriage to her husband, and while her English was flawless and precise, her knowledge of her adopted homelands culture wasn't as thorough. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, and was interrupted when Mr. Carmichael said: "Perhaps it would be best if I were to repeat my story for you, that you might judge it on its own merits?" Mayling nodded, and at a gesture from Joyce, took a seat along with Mrs. Upton as Mr. Carmichael began, what seemed to him, to be the millionth retelling of events of December 19th, 1914.

As Mr. Carmichael drew his story to a close, Mrs. Langham spoke: "My daughter is a brilliant child, and I can see why she was so excited - you are quite the storyteller Mr. Carmichael." "Please, call me Phil," he responded "and as you can see" he gestured to himself depreciatingly, "I've had years of practice." Mrs. Langham gave him a small smile and directed a question to both Phil and Joyce "Would it be possible for me to watch your class? I'd like to see how things proceed."

Mr. Carmichael shrugged his shoulders spreading his arms, palms up and said: "If you don't mind watching from the hallway, I have no objection - I caught our Headmistress checking on our class this morning." He smiled at Mrs. Upton, who nodded her agreement. "I'll be back tomorrow morning then," said Mrs. Langham as she stood, shaking their hands.

"Well," said Mrs. Upton after Mrs. Langham had left "That was abrupt." Mr. Carmichael rubbed a hand over his bare pate "She lost family." He said softly. "How do you know?" asked Mrs. Upton. "I've seen it before," he said with a sigh, "I imagine it was during the Second Great War, given her age." He smiled at Mrs. Uptons lost expression "Nothing to be done for it, she doesn't seem the type to hate unnecessarily, and nothing I say or do is likely to provoke a confrontation." Leaving her to her thoughts, Mr. Carmichael stepped out of the office, in search of a cup of tea.

The next day found Mrs. Langham seated across the hall from Mr. Carmichael's class, watching as he lead the students through 'God Save the Queen,' her daughters voice unmistakeable as she followed right along with him, the only one to make it through the entire song. And now she knew what her daughter had been humming last night, and on the way to school this morning. She listened as he told an amusing story about how his unit had been shipped out without mess kits, and his men had to use their helmets as bowls. Mayling strove to contain a laugh as he lamented his friend Robby, who hadn't cleaned his helmet properly, and wound up with hair that smelled like beef stew, followed by an admonishment to always make sure they washed their dishes properly, because you never knew when you might have to wear one as a hat. She left just before first break, not wanting to draw attention to her presence. She might, she admitted to herself, just might have overreacted a bit. She'd invite Mr. Carmichael over to dinner with her family soon to make amends.

As for Mr. Carmichael, he was aware of her presence, and her departure. As he stood outside the door at first break, watching the children, he noticed young Mr. Potter standing nearby. "Alright there, Mr. Potter?" Mr. Carmichael asked.

Harry looked up at him, and fought to keep his gaze steady "I'm fine Mr. Carmichael, I just..." Harry trailed off, not sure how to continue. "You've a hard row to hoe Harry," said Mr. Carmichael "I won't pretend I know what your life is like, but I can tell you this," he said as he held Harry's attention "Life is rarely fair, and even less often kind." He started into the boy's eyes, trying to will the next bit home "I've told this to many of the men who served with and beneath me - there isn't any use bemoaning your circumstances. Life is what it is, and the best thing to do is to put your back into it and get to work."

Harry looked puzzled at that, although he managed to continue meeting Mr. Carmichael's eyes. Mr. Carmichael paused 'How can I say this so a child will understand' he mused. "No matter what happens in life, things always get better, even only by a little, when you work hard." Said Mr. Carmichael. "Now Mrs. Upton, she told me that before the Holidays your work was outstanding nearly as good as Mrs. Langham's."

Harry started, surprised that the Headmistress of the school knew anything at all about his work. "Now, Mrs. Smith said that things have gone downhill after your arm was broken. If it's still bothering you when trying to write, let me know, I have some exercises that might help." Harry shook his head "It doesn't really hurt anymore, Sir."

"Well, then there is no excuse for poor results then," said Mr. Carmichael "I'll expect nothing but your best, and in return, you'll have mine." Harry felt tears start to well up and blinked them away furiously "My Aunt and Uncle don't like it when I do better than Dudley." He said, his voice breaking at the end. Mr. Carmichael sighed and said "Dudley seems to be what they call hyperactive, he needs to burn off that extra energy if he is going to do well. I'll contact your Aunt and Uncle about Dudley, and you keep on working hard lad." With that, Harry nodded, and the pair fell silent, each in their own thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry stood on his stool, furiously scrubbing the skillet from this evenings meal. Normally he would be half-heartedly wiping at the skillet and daydreaming, have completed washing all the other dishes before tackling the greasy mess. Today was different. Harry was thinking about what Mr. Carmichael had said, that everything could be made better if you just worked hard enough.

Rinsing the skillet, and setting it to dry, Harry cleaned the sink and put his stool away. He was surprised to notice that according to the clock above the oven, he had finished his after dinner clean up in half an hour when previously he took an hour or more to complete the work. 'Have I really been that lazy?' Harry thought to himself, remember all the times Uncle Vernon had called him lazy or a worthless layabout.

Harry hurried into the living room where his relatives were relaxing in front of the telly. He stood next to Uncle Vernon's chair and waited for a commercial break. Once the show broke, and a toothpaste advertisement began, Vernon glanced over at Harry who, remembering Mr. Carmichael's admonishment, kept his gaze up and firm while stating "I've done the dishes Uncle, is there anything else for the evening?"

Vernon had noticed Harry standing quietly and respectfully, waiting for the commercial break. He stood up from his chair with a grunt and gestured for Harry to follow him into the kitchen. With Harry trailing behind him, Vernon moved over the sink and rubbed a finger across the drying skillet and plates. Seeing that all was clean and in order, with the sink drained and wiped down as well, he chanced a glance at the clock to confirm what he already suspected. The boy had actually done his work without needing any prodding.

Vernon turned, and to Harry's shock gave him a nod and something that could, under the correct lighting and with just a bit of a squint, be construed as a smile. "Good to see you finally stopped slacking off." he rumbled.

Harry strove to keep his eyes on uncles, and responded "Mr. Carmichael said...", he coughed nervously, cleared his throat and continued "he said that I should work hard at whatever I have to do."

At this, Vernon did in fact actually smile "And he's right boy," he said, for perhaps the first time not lacing the word 'boy' with contempt or dislike. "I didn't buy this house by daydreaming, and slacking off - I work hard, every day." Vernon continued "Keep working hard boy, and you might make something of yourself."

Harry was stunned by Vernon's words. He stuttered a bit as he rapidly blinked away tears "I'm... I'm sorry for being lazy before, Uncle Vernon I promise from now on I'll work hard!".

Vernon continued to smile and stepped towards Harry laying a large, heavy hand on his thin shoulder. "See that you do. You've the rest of the evening to yourself." As Vernon walked out of the room, he couldn't help but think that finally, his nephew was taking a better path, and it looked to be thanks to Mr. Carmichael.

Over the next two days, Harry put his new found work ethic into fierce practice. He got up as soon as he was awoken by Aunt Petunia, no longer requiring the several attempts he previously needed. He prepared breakfast, and packed Uncle Veron's lunch at the same time, saving himself from having to drag out his stool twice, and wash the knives he used to make his Uncle's sandwiches. At school, he got to work as soon as the assignment was given, and forced himself to see it to the end without giving into the temptation to daydream. Once home, he set to his chores with a will and found out that if he applied himself, they weren't nearly as onerous as he had previously viewed them.

His efforts did not go unnoticed, and both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, while not affectionate, at least seemed to not be as hostile, or as exasperated by him.

Dudley was confused by this new Harry. Harry was supposed to be lazy, and useless. But now Harry was quick to finish his chores, and after confirming their completion, even quicker to disappear, either into his cupboard, or outside if there was still daylight. This denied Dudley the opportunity to point out his cousin's faults, and Dudley wasn't quite sure what to do. At least after school, he still had Harry Hunting.

Mr. Carmichael noticed Harry's renewed dedication to his school work, and moreover that he was carrying himself with a little more confidence. He graced the boy with a smile and a nod every time he turned in his assignments, glad to see he was turning himself around. 'Now to handle his cousin,' Mr. Carmichael thought.

It was Friday afternoon, and the students had all left Little Whinging Junior, when Mrs. Upton heard a rap on her doorframe and looked up to see Mr. Carmichael standing there, leaning on his cane.

"Afternoon Joyce," Mr. Carmichael began "Do you have a few minutes?". Mrs. Upton smiled at the man who had quickly become one of her favorite teachers and motioned for him to have a seat.

"Any trouble I should know about?" she asked, trying to read the lines of his face.

"Not so much trouble, as a bit of concern." Said, Mr. Carmichael, as he eased into the chair, taking care to ease his stiff leg. "Young Mr. Dursley seems to have trouble with an overabundance of energy, and I'm afraid that joined with his boisterous nature, that he may be setting down the path to becoming a bully."

Mrs. Upton frowned, and asked, "Have you seen him bullying any of the others?"

Mr. Carmichael grimaced and reluctantly replied, "Not during breaks, but I was headed home, I saw him chasing after his cousin, and it didn't look like a friendly game."

He leaned forward as much as he could, and continued "Now, I don't know much about that household, save for one of the boys is well dressed and the other wears his cast-offs - neither seems starved or beaten, so it isn't my place, but I'd like to talk to Dudley's father."

Mrs. Upton raised an eyebrow at him and queried "Surely not to accuse young Mr. Dursley of actions we've not witnessed?"

Mr. Carmichael snorted, and leaned back gesturing expansively "No, I'd just like to see if we can't give Dudley an outlet for all that energy." He rubbed his leg absentmindedly "When I was a lad, I was always running around kicking a ball, chasing after friends, just blowing off steam." He made a sweeping gesture around the school "It seems like these kids go home, and sit down in front of the telly - and that works for some I suppose, but I think Dudley would be better served if he had an outlet for that energy."

Mrs. Upton nodded slowly, her face pensive "I know his father, he serves on a few local committees, and he is a fine man, a bit loud - Dudley comes by that honestly- but well-meaning, and from those who work under him at Grunning's I hear nothing but good things about how hard he works."

Mr. Carmichael rubbed a hand across his pate and then nodded, "I imagine if I could get him to the local legion and get a snifter or two in him, I might convince him that his son needs a bit more fresh air, and bit less telly."

Joyce leveled a stern look at him and scathingly said: "Carol said your doctor advised you not to drink."

Mr. Carmichael gave a sigh and gestured to himself "I'm not exactly taking a lot of years off my life Joyce, and if it takes a dram or two to help set a young man down the right road, well, I can bear up under that sacrifice."

Mrs. Upton sniffed "Yes, Carol has often bemoaned the fact that her father has raided her liquor cabinet."

Mr. Carmichael gave a quick grin, and the years faded a bit, revealing the boyish charm his daughter had spoken of "Well if she'd stop stocking it with Macallan, I'd have to search elsewhere." He gave her a wink and stood up slowly "Luckily, the legion stocks it as well, so I'll give Mr. Dursley a call this evening, and see if he can meet me for a drink."

Later that evening, Vernon Dursley piloted his Range Rover into a parking spot at the Legion, just a few miles from his home. His secretary had passed him a message from Mr. Carmichael asking if he would meet him for a drink. As he stumped into the Legion, he could see it was packed, which wasn't unexpected on a Friday night. He eased up to the bar, and once he had the bartender's attention, asked where he might find Mr. Carmichael. The bartender nodded and pointed out a small table towards the back, where an old man sat.

Mr. Carmichael watched as a man who could only be Mr. Dursley made his way over. The family resemblance to his son was strong, and if Mr. Dursley was on the rounder side, he moved like a man who had once been very active, whose muscle hadn't completely gone to seed.

Mr. Carmichael stood to greet Dudley's father, offering his hand as he said: "Good evening Mr. Dursley, I'm glad you had the time to meet me this evening."

Vernon shook his hand, noting that the man was older than he had thought he would be, as Vernon had expected a veteran of the Second Great War, not the first. "Always have time to meet with a man who received the Victoria Cross," he smiled "and the man who finally got my nephews head out of the clouds."

Mr. Carmichael gestured towards the seat across of him and gave a wave and a nod to the bartender. "Yes, young Harry is a bit of dreamer, which isn't a terrible thing, but he needs to put his work first," said Mr. Carmichael, attempting to gauge Mr. Dursley's attitude towards his nephew.

Vernon gave a short nod "Whatever speech you gave the boy worked far better than my efforts," he said "I've spent the past few years telling him he needed to work hard to get anywhere in life, but I was afraid he was going down the same road as his parents until this week."

The bartender approached the table, and set down a bottle of Macallan and two snifters, and departed without a word.

Pouring each of them a dram, Mr. Carmichael asked: "If you don't mind, what is the story behind his parents?"

Vernon took a sip of the whiskey, and gave a sigh "His mother was my wife's sister, and I suppose she wasn't a bad sort, although she and Petunia grew apart in their teens." He frowned "Her husband I only met once, but I can tell you for certain that the man was a layabout."

Mr. Carmichael sipped his own dram and nodded for Vernon to continue.

"He came from money you see," Said Vernon as he leaned forward a bit, gesturing with his free hand "he and his friends were what he liked to call 'Merry Pranksters', when in fact they were little better than bullies." Vernon scoffed and went on "He didn't work, and when he and Lily died in a car accident, it seems that he had managed to drain his estate dry."

Vernon downed the rest of his dram in a single swallow, and said: "And so Harry appeared on our doorstep on the morning of November first, with a letter stuck in his basinet, telling us that his mother and father and tragically died, and asking us to take him in."

He leaned further forward and nearly hissed "A bassinet, on the porch in November! And no telling how long he'd been out there either, the boy was nearly blue with cold." He straightened up "Well, we couldn't refuse to take him, he is family, but I can tell you not a shilling of support has come from any sort of insurance or estate."

Mr. Carmichael listened to the tale, and when it seemed Vernon had run out of steam reached over and clasped the man's free hand. "You've done as well as you could by him - in my time he'd have wound up in an orphanage or maybe with the church." He let his hand go, and said: "I'm glad the lad seems to have taken my advice to heart, but I actually wanted to talk to you about Dudley."

Vernon blinked, surprised "Dudley? I know he isn't the top of his class, but he's doing well isn't he?" concern evident on his face.

"Oh he's doing well enough, but I think he could do better," said Mr. Carmichael as he not so subtlely refilled Vernon's snifter. "Let me ask you a question," he continued on "Your height and build, I bet you played rugby, yeah?"

Vernon took a moment as the conversation suddenly shifted gears and said slowly "Yes, both in school and later in college, why?"

Mr. Carmichael gave him a grin, the years dropping away "Well, your son is clearly your get, and I'd bet he would make a fine player as well, although these days the kids seem to prefer footie."

Mr. Carmichael drained his snifter and leaned forward as if to impart a secret "The thing is, Dudley is what I think of as a born athlete. He needs to be up and moving around, running, doing things." He gave a nod towards Vernon "You were the same way as a boy I imagine, but things are different now."

Mr. Carmichael leaned back and with a sigh gestured around the legion his point quickly becoming clear "It's the damn telly, no one turns them off, and the kids just park themselves in front of it."

Vernon gave a sigh, acknowledging the point "That's too true, lord knows I'm guilty of it," he glanced down at his midsection "and it hasn't been that healthy for me either."

Mr. Carmichael very carefully ~didn't~ look at Vernon's midsection and said: "What Dudley needs is to get out and get active - he's terribly restless in class and his work suffers, all because he has so much energy to burn." He refilled his snifter. "He has a natural sense of leadership about him, and I've seen him run around the play yard, he could be amazingly fast once he grows into himself."

Vernon ran his hand through his hair, and said "The problem has always been Petunia," he lowered his voice "Dudley's birth was hard on her, and the doctors told her she wouldn't have any more children, as a result, she has always been so protective of him, and I suppose I have as well."

Mr. Carmichael leaned back a bit, and thought for a moment, composing his thoughts "I'm sorry about that, you've done a good job raising your son, but I'm afraid over caution and overindulgence might be the ruin of him." He shifted his snifter from one hand to the other, "Sport today is different from both of our youths," he gave himself a depreciating wave "Even if mine was awfully long ago - today every sport has the kids in helmets and pads."

He took a sip as Vernon appeared to give the idea some consideration, then suggested: "Take the wife out to a few of the youth leagues, and bring Dudley with you, I bet between the two of you, and after seeing the sport, you'll bring her around."

Vernon took a sip of his whiskey and fell into thought. Hadn't he been captain of his rugby team? He had had good times and good friends and made great memories. Also, Dudley ~was~ heavier than Vernon had been in his youth, and it certainly didn't come from Petunia's side of the family, as he couldn't get her to gain weight to save his life.

He gave himself a nod. He drained his whiskey and stood up offering his hand to Mr. Carmichael "Damn if you aren't spot on, I'll talk to Dudley tonight, and drag Petunia out tomorrow afternoon."

Mr. Carmichael smiled and stood, shaking Vernon's hand and said "If you don't mind a bit more advice from an old man who was happily married for sixty-eight years, I'd say after your done at the fields, drop Dudley off at whoever is watching Harry, and take her out to a nice dinner." He gave a chortle and a wink "Just because you can't have any more children, doesn't mean you can't keep up the practice."

Vernon choked back a laugh, and grinned back at the older man "Too true." He chuckled to himself as he left the Legion, thinking about how much the man reminded of Petunia's father, who had shared that same wicked sense of humor, and air of knowledge and wisdom.

The following two weeks proved to be busy ones, as Vernon implemented Mr. Carmichael's suggestions, and Dudley found himself in an after-school football program. Harry continued to dedicate himself to working hard in school and at his chores and found that he had more free time than before, which he spent reading, often in his cupboard. When Harry had hesitantly asked Vernon for a lamp for his cupboard, so he could read in the evenings, Vernon had smiled - actually smiled! And brought down an old lamp that Petunia had deemed entirely unsuitable for the living room when they had moved in.

Mr. Carmichael found himself a guest at both the Langham and the Dursley households, having been invited over for Sunday dinner by both. His stories and general good humor made him a welcome addition, and the children clearly looked up to him.

Sadly all things come to a close, and Mrs. Smith returned from the hospital visit, paler and crankier than usual. Mr. Carmichael's goodbye the preceding Friday had been a bit tearful, but he had reassured his pupils that they would still see him around the school, as he had accepted an offer from Mrs. Upton to join the staff as a floating substitute and break monitor - all of which comprised a position she had created for the sole purpose of keeping the man around the school, as he was just too valuable an asset to lose, and Carol had mentioned how much more energy he displayed when he was working with the children.

And so time passed.


End file.
